


Canvas

by Neverletgo711



Category: Fast & Furious (Movies), Hobbs & Shaw (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Art, F/M, Fluff, POV, dream-sharing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27148864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverletgo711/pseuds/Neverletgo711
Summary: Dream-sharing with your soulmate is something big, means that he/she is ready to finally meet you.But after two years of seeing the man in the suit wondering around the world and messing up your painting skills you had enough, he's not gonna try to find you, he's avoiding you.Trying to move on, you decide to put your heart in your work until a certain blondie and his beefy boyfriend play matchmake with you and mister suit&tie.
Relationships: Deckard Shaw/OFC, Deckard Shaw/Original Character(s), Deckard Shaw/Original Female Character, Hattie/OFC, Luke Hobbs/Hattie Shaw
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Canvas

**KATE POV**

The first time I dreamed of him I was asleep on a sofa, I had just finished restoring a seventeenth century oil painting. And I dreamed of him. At first I recognized only glimpses of a desert landscape, not a desert like the Sahara, a landscape that was not populated and of which only the rubble of civilization remained.Then the sound of grenades and the rising dust made me get a better picture of the man in tactical uniform whose reflection I saw in the rearview mirror of a rickety car. I saw clearly what he was seeing and at times I saw the reflection of him.

It wasn't much but I was struck and perhaps a little shocked by his grim look and dark circles. He looked exhausted not only physically but mentally as well. _He's a soldier_ , I thought. My soulmate is a soldier sent to fight who knows where. And when I heard the roar of an explosion, I woke with a start. Maybe after that evening I would never see him again, maybe we would never meet, and so I got up from the sofa and picked up a second-rate canvas abandoned by the wall.

I painted it with the few memories I had in my mind. The eyebrows and cheekbones, the protective helmet, the thin line of his lips curled into a grimace. I chosed acrylic paints, they would have dried up immediately and I wouldn't have to wait. But that gave me little room for error. I had to be precise and meticulous, I chose colors in the range of sienna and ocher, that reminded me of earth. After a while I looked at it with uncertanty. Was I accurate? 

It seemed that he was older than me, from the way his eyes were surrounded by small expression lines. But maybe it was the sand that gave this effect. I wrapped the painting carefully and left the basement of the gallery through the back door for employees. It was late afternoon when I took the subway and all the way I thought and hoped that he too would dream of me that evening. Maybe when he got home he would try to contact me and with this thought I began to prepare myself , the idea of finally having found the right person scared me and excited me at once. The only one, Soulmate.  
In our society, having a soulmate and finding him/her wasn't particularly difficult, with the internet and apps it was easy to search through thousands of photos and find the person you were looking for. It took time, and you certainly needed to know more about your soulmate than a glimpse. But I hoped to dream of him again and for several weeks I started painting every time I woke up. Every time I dreamed he was there. Occasionally I was worried about what I saw and at other times I felt embarrassed to invade his privacy like this. But I knew that sooner or later he would dream of me too, if he hadn't yet.He was very far from the ideal of man I had in mind, I had to admit.

I had had relationships mainly with artists, musicians and with some college mates but never with serious and precise men. Never with businessmen, perpetually in suits, obsessed with work and profit. I worked for passion and the idea of having a relationship with a man who saw me as a rebel, out of the rules, not interested in making money, scared me.I didn't fit into the ideal of the beautiful and intelligent girl who knew how to converse about politics and finance at dinner, or who had the sole prerogative of giving birth to brats.

I was none of these things. And I certainly would never been the wife of a presidential candidate. With my ordinary appearance and my "job" as an art restorer I was anything but uninteresting. I spent my working hours in the vault of a large New York art gallery, where the most valuable paintings were cataloged, restored and put back on display. When I wasn't working in NY I was traveling for work, almost six months a year. I was especially in demand in Europe, Paris and Vienna in particular. But I spoke poorly foreign languages. I was trying to keep the slang to a minimum and I was used to juggling one job and another making friends with the few who had the patience to forgive my pronunciation errors.I love my life, but sometimes I understood that I didn't belong to any easily recognizable category. I blend in as a shade of white on a background of clouds.

And maybe that's why months after my first dream of him, I began to leave visible clues as to who I was and where I came from.

I started with a vintage watch, which showed not only the time but also the city and when the alarm went off it started the local news radio. Before going out every morning I looked in the mirror and spent a good ten minutes doing make up, sure that my ID badge hanging on the bedroom mirror would not go unnoticed. _Kate D. - Art Curator_

I prepared breakfast with care, maybe he was the kind of man who would appreciate pancakes and orange juice, my grandmother always said " _The way to a man's heart is through his stomach_ ". And before leaving the house, I would say goodbye to my father, or at least I waved to his photograph, portraited in a silver vintage frame. He had died a couples of years before I started dreaming of Him. I missed him more now that he was gone, than before. When I decided to move from nowhere in Oahio to NY. He was a professor of literature and in his spare time he wrote essays for specialized journals. He had collaborated with the writing of plays, and between this and that he had found time for me too.He had been a good father, and although I often repeat this phrase to myself, I can only wish he had not been. He was affable and highly intelligent, but rarely showed he loved me as much as he did for his literary masterpieces. If my essay at school coincided with the release of a book in which he had collaborated, that was where he went. He did not apologize, nor he invented lies. He always told me that there was always time for work and that I wouldn't go anywhere. That I would surely be bored with an ever-present and useless father who teaches you to ride a bicycle. On the contrary, he had introduced me to half a dozen authors of best-selling works,he had taught me diction and was speculatively following my improvements in literature during college. But when I told him I was going to be an art curator, he laughed, replying that anyone but his daughter was fine for that job. 

Although I had a natural talent for perfectly replicating modern and classic works of art, he had no idea how good I was at getting the perfect shade of color and perspective. I could feel the painter's emotions through his art, as he did with poetry. And when I applied to the national gallery he was amazed that my letter of employment was immediately accepted. I did not look back from that day, and I didn't return home until his sudden death. I had sealed the house and I had kept everything as I remembered it. I hadn't had the heart to sell even use of his dusty books or the old armchair where he spent hours reading. He did not like "Modernities". No computer or television, a radio for my father was more than enough. However, he had to succumb to the inevitable use of the cell phone. 

it took a year before I could even figure out where my soulmate was. He traveled frequently and never seemed to stop anywhere for more than a few weeks. As time went by, I realized that the Christmas gifts I bought and left in the closet, hoping I would meet him at the last minute, were going to waste.  
After the first year, I always started waking up the same way, sweaty, scared and with the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. I knew of a Parisian co-worker that had found her soulmate and she told me confidentially that she had felt her partner's emotions before meeting him. 

Whatever he was experiencing on the other side of the world I was part of it, implicitly.

I could feel his sense of loneliness, restlessness and melancholy. Until one day I saw him with a woman, a beautiful woman. And I understood that I had to throw in the towel and never-opened Christmas presents out of the window.   
  
  
  


* * *

**HATTIE POV**

My older brother Deckard is not the most difficult of men, he is as you see him, an English gentleman. But when he was younger he always looked like he was ready to fight in a suburban bar. He had that lived-in, self-assured air, and his bad boy charm made him particularly attractive even though he didn't have model features. Owen, on the other hand, was Mom's handsome favorite, and his good looks have always helped him even though our brother Deck hid the mess he made.

Over time, I became more attached to my older brother than I would like to admit and admired him so much that I pursued a military career. In the family we are half thieves half crazy, and if Owen is almost completely crazy and Deck almost completely violent, I could have considered myself different. I didn't want to pursue family hobbies, at least not forever. And although our mother did not agree, I decided to go my own way.

After being reconciled with my family after years of tension, also because of my brothers.( Mostly because of the _boys_! ) I was going out with Luke on a regular basis, it was Deck who introduced him to me, in a way. Luke is very different from the men I have dated, he is warmer, more adventurous and smiley. Not to mention the perennial tan that suits him a lot. He is affectionate with me, in a non-trivial or obvious way, and has a very sweet little girl Samantha. Since I have been with him I have forgotten "been taken for granted" and I feel happy, much more than I admit to my mother, who already imagines herself surrounded by grandchildren.

  
However, all this happiness makes me think of my brother, jumping from one woman to another without ever really knowing any. I would like him to see how love and family completes you and change you for the better. But I fear there's no hope for him, beyond his experiences in war and with the special forces he never dwells enough on something to really belong. And although he does not lack female company, I have noticed how Deckard looks at Luke when he's with his daughter. He has a sad expression when he believes no one sees him. But I do, I notice. But I'm too cowardly to ask him directly what's wrong. Luke also asked me, in his own way, if Deck ever had a serious relationship with anyone, but I couldn't answer. In this area I don't know my brother at all.

And so I decided that for Valentine's Day this year I would find the right woman for my brother.

"Honey, sneaking into his apartment isn't a nice thing .." Luke complained behind me, trying to make himself as small as he could.

"I'm his sister and I'm worried!"

His penthouse in London was a nice _little_ place,: classy, full of sleek modern furniture in shades of gray and graphite.

"This place looks like something out of a catalog," Luke grumbled and I nodded, nothing I saw really seemed to be used frequently, except the kitchen that was well stocked. It seemed that no one really lived there: no photographs, CDs, decorative plants. It was a sterile world in which Deckard's pure and austere order reigned. Even the walk-in closet was meticulously styled in chromatic order, from black to gray, from gray to dark blue. There wasn't much liveliness.

  
"Huu, this is nice!" Luke was playing with a custom Rolex watch

"no no! don't leave fingerprints, he might notice!" I scold him, but he raised his eyebrows and looked at me for a long moment adding "Honey, if he's so obsessed with his things I wouldn't go into his bedroom."

"I'm his sister, remember? He'll forgive me, but he won't forgive you!" I replied with a grin on my lips. He and Deck were always competing, like two roosters in the same chicken coop. They were quite ridiculous.

The master bedroom was quiet and there were a few more personal touches. On the main dresser was a photo of the three of us as children, holding us in a hug or sitting on the sidewalk. Our mother had taken that photo.

The bed had been made and the pillows had been meticulously arranged and felt as soft as just bought. I opened all the drawers I found, carefully rummaging through jewels, watches and block notes. But at the bottom of the nightstand drawer I found a fabric tab and discovered the double bottom of the drawer lifting it.

"Look what we got here.." showing Luke the secret compartment, there was a square leather bag and a Polaroid photograph taken from a distance.

It was a photo of a girl, the color of her hair or eyes was not clear, the photo was black and white and faded on the sides. It must have been some time ago and judging by the type of pose the girl did not know she was photographed. She was crossing the street with a large briefcase and was wearing a baseball cap, an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.

  
"strange isn't it? Is she a relative of yours maybe?"

Focusing on her face, i admitted she has quite the beautiful profile, oval and delicate, with full heart-shaped lips. She didn't look like any of our withered relatives, she was probably in her twenties.

"no, no one I know, I didn't know my brother was a perv who spied on people .." I said softly

Luke shook his head for a moment and gave me an incredulous look "Deckard has a bad temper but I don't think the girl is one of his conquests, otherwise we would have found an album full of photos!" he chuckled and then turned serious "looking back, it would be embarrassing".

I suppressed a laugh and slapped him on the arm "come on, it's my brother! Maybe it's his secret illegitimate daughter!" I turned the photo and was shocked for a moment to read _'Kate 2011 - still the love of my life'_

"Oh ho, " Luke pressed behind me, "it seems serious, maybe we could track her down .."

"yes, you're right" I took a picture of the girl and put everything back in its place.

When we got out of the apartment and got on the elevator I felt guilty and dirty. Maybe I dug too deep in my brother's privacy and shouldn't look for the girl, maybe she was dead and my brother got burned.

"what are you thinking about?" Luke gave me a kiss on the cheek which took me away from my thoughts "you look troubled."

"I feel anxious about rummaging through my brother's life, but I need to know why he's like this ... so ... alone"

  
Luke hugged me and I breathed in the perfume of his cologne that soaked his leather jacket. It comforted me to know that Luke was always there for me. It was my rock.

"tomorrow we will find out who the mysterious Kate is, maybe she lives a double life or is an international spy!" Luke was immediately excited and ready to work on it. I on the other end felt a sense of nausea in the pit of my stomach.


End file.
